A Trauma Transference
by Vitugglan
Summary: This is in response to a challenge issued over a year ago by Taran Swann. The challenge: Snape hits his head and thinks he's... Gilderoy Lockhart!
1. A Trauma Transference II

_**Disclaimer**: This is a piece of fan fiction. Harry Potter and all characters, magic, events, royalties, etc., are the ideas and property of J.K. Rowling and whoever she designates to translate them to book, recording or film. I hope you'll enjoy my own take on this particular universe, even though I don't own it and didn't invent it._

The icy street was filled with cars. The light was red. Professor Severus Snape, in disguise and on Order business, waited for the 'walk' signal. As soon as it appeared, he stepped down across the dirty slush that filled the gutter.

"Look out!"

He wasn't sure who had yelled. A car, unable to stop in the ice, sped through the intersection.

Snape stepped back, but misjudged his distance. His heel rammed against the curb and he fell, his head hitting something hard. Then, he knew nothing.

When he awoke, he was laying on a gurney in a Muggle hospital's hallway. Other patients were around him, some groaning, some just lying still. A young woman with a scarf over her hair came along and he put out his hand to stop her.

"Excuse me, Miss. Could you tell me where I am?"

"Saint Valentine's, Mr..." She consulted the chart on his bed "...Mr. Jones. We've notified the address on your license, someone is coming to retrieve you."

She walked on without a second glance. Snape couldn't understand it. Was the girl completely impervious?

And, why had she called him 'Mr. Jones'?

He mulled over that one for a while, then came up with a reasonable answer: He must have been travelling incognito. After all, his face was known through Wizarding circles worldwide. Now all he had to do was figure out why the girl didn't react more favorably.

He was still occupied with his musings when he saw the form of a sprightly older man dressed in a crumpled brown suit coming toward him, his beard falling in disarray down his chest, his sober blue eyes aimed right at him. A look of relief spread over the man's face when he saw that Snape was sitting up and awake.

"Albus!" Snape greeted him, extending his hand broadly. Of course the old headmaster would be glad to see him. Wasn't everybody?

"Johnny Jones!" Dumbledore said, adopting the same hearty tone Snape had used. He grasped Snape's hand and pumped it hard. "We were near distraction when we heard you'd been in an accident," he whispered.

"Well, no harm done! The girl said you'd come to 'retrieve' me. Let's get out of here!"

"You'll have to dress first."

"Oh. Of course."

Snape looked down at his hospital gown and winced. "I can't imagine how I must look! I'm glad now that girl didn't recognize me. I must be a fright! Well, off with the rags and into the finery... Er, where are my clothes?"

Another woman with a scarf came along and Dumbledore stopped her. "Excuse me, sister, my friend is to be released and he needs his clothes."

"He'll have to wait to be examined before he can be released."

"We have a private doctor. I've got papers from the office..."

The woman scanned them, then leaned down and pulled a bag from below the gurney. The soiled clothes Snape had been wearing when he was brought in, were in the bag. He took them and went into a room the sister indicated, to dress.

When he came out, he was even more distressed than when he went in.

"It's gone from bad to worse!" he told Dumbledore. "That thing they had me in was at least a decent color. This clashes with everything about me. It doesn't match my hair, or my skin tone, or my eyes. And could you please explain this horrible wig I'm wearing?"

Dumbledore led him out of the hospital and around the corner where Arthur Weasley was waiting in a Muggle car. He especially liked driving the members of the Order around, now that he'd replaced his spelled Anglia which now lived in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts.

"How are you doing, Professor?" Arthur asked as Snape climbed into the back seat.

"Oh, very well. Very well indeed." Snape turned to Dumbledore. "Who is that man?"

"Arthur Weasley. Surely you recall him?"

"No... But I do recall he had some boys. Ron, George, and..."

"Fred," Arthur supplied from the front seat.

"That's right! Fred. And, wasn't there a girl, too?"

"Ginny."

"Yes. Ginny."

"Better get him back to the house quickly," Dumbledore said, giving Snape a worried glance.

The only problem was, Snape couldn't find the house. Professor Dumbledore had to tell him the secret all over again before he could see number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

"Fascinating!" Snape exclaimed with joy. "I'll have to put that into my next book. It'll have its own chapter: Disguising one's property against demonic infiltration. Wonderful!"

Dumbledore took Snape's elbow and guided him into the house.

Arthur had gone ahead and alerted everyone to Snape's odd behavior. So when he was brought in, no one batted an eye when he criticized the decor of the hallway.

"You'll have to read my book about Magical Design," Snape told Molly Weasley, flashing her a brilliant smile.

"Oh! I... I suppose I will," Molly said, not sure if she should take him seriously or not. In either event, she was very taken with the change in Severus. He seemed like a completely different wizard.

"I don't like this," Minerva McGonagall whispered to Albus. "He's acting very out of sorts. We ought to take him to see Poppy up at the school. You just can't tell with head injuries."

"I suppose we must. I thought bringing him back here would help, once I saw how he was. But, I suppose we'll need Poppy's expertise."

Snape had Molly and Tonks backed up against the wall beside the staircase, entertaining them with a fantastic story about a bog boggart he claimed to have captured. Molly was acting nearly as giddy as Tonks, both of them staring at him with what seemed to be growing adoration.

"Here, now, Molly," said Arthur, taking her by the shoulders and casting strange glances back at Snape, "How about some lunch for the weary travellers? Eh? The professor here just got out of hospital, you know, and needs something hot."

"Oh. Oh! Of course! I am so sorry!" Molly said, clutching Snape's arm and smiling up at him. "If you'll just wait a moment, I'll have some nice, hot soup for you."

"I'll help!" said Tonks. She and Molly went into the kitchen, neither of them taking their eyes off of Snape until they banged head-first into the door and had to look around to negotiate their way through. They fought over who should go first, too, Tonks insisting that Molly took precedence, while Molly opted for 'youth before beauty'. Finally, though, the door swung shut on them.

"Why don't you go upstairs and change into your normal clothes?" Minerva said, to get Snape out of the hallway.

"Wonderful idea, Minerva. You know, you ought to wear your hair like that more often. It softens your features."

Snape skipped onto the steps and was soon swallowed by the shadows above the landing.

Minerva turned to Albus. "What did he mean by that?" she asked. She felt the Muggle hairstyle she had adopted for her own excursion earlier that day, a soft, short style that she often saw Muggle women of middle age wearing, then made a mirror appear in her hand to study how she looked in it.

"He's... been injured," Dumbledore replied, confused, and went upstairs to see to Snape.

Clothes were spread all over the room. Some were on the bed, others were on the floor or piled on the chair. Snape, still in his Muggle disguise, stood in the middle of it and turned helplessly around.

"There's absolutely nothing to wear!" he exclaimed when Albus entered.

Albus swung the door half closed and took the black shirt and trousers off the hook. "Here are the clothes you were wearing this morning," he said, handing them to Snape.

Snape examined them critically, first his usual black, high-necked shirt, then the trousers, cut very conservatively, and tossed them into the heap on the bed.

"I never wore anything that depressing in my life!" he declared.

"But, you just wore that this morning. Those are your clothes. I think you got a worse bump than we thought, Severus."

"Severus? Who's Severus, now? First, it was Johnny Jones. Which I could abide, since I was travelling incognito at the time. But, Albus, we're alone now. There's no need to create an alternate personna for me. Just call me by my real name, there's a good man."

Albus Dumbledore regarded Snape with a growing sense of alarm. "If you're not Severus Snape, then who are you?" he asked.

"Why, Gilderoy Lockhart, of course!" Snape laugned. "Surely you could tell the difference between me and that ill-natured quack who teaches Potions! Oh, by the way. I will be teaching Defense again this year. My calendar is quite free."

"He thinks he's who?" Poppy couldn't believe her ears and had Dumbledore repeat it twice more, until it sank in. "How could he possibly... Hasn't he looked in a mirror?"

"Constantly. He thinks someone put a spell on him. He refuses to wear his own clothes, calls them 'depressing'. Referred to himself as an 'ill-natured quack' as well when I called him by his right name. You _can_ fix him up... can't you?"

"Yes, I can, but it will take some time. And I do wish it was anyone but him! I need a potion brewed to treat the condition. We don't usually have any on hand since Trauma Transference is so rare these days."

"I may not be up to Severus's standards, but I flatter myself that I can brew up what you need," Dumbledore replied.

"Good. Severus has a Pharmaceutical in his lab. I'll give you a list of potions I need replaced as well... If you don't mind," she told him.

"No, I don't mind. It's been a long time since I've had much to do with potion making. It'll be a relaxing change."

Dumbledore trotted off to the dungeons to open Snape's stores.

Poppy went back to her patient, her only patient since Christmas holiday wouldn't end again for another few days. "Severus..."

"How often do I have to explain it?" Snape asked with a patient, tired smile. "Someone placed a spell on me so I would look like Severus Snape. Probably to protect my anonymity while I was out."

"Of course. Severus, I'll need you to lay down and try to get some sleep. You've had a bad morning, and sleep is the best thing."

Snape sighed. "I'll do as you request, under one condition: You must call me 'Gilderoy'. Is it agreed?"

Poppy sighed herself. "Agreed," she answered.

"Let me hear you say it, then," he coaxed with a compelling grin.

"All right. Gilderoy." And Poppy gave him one of her brightest smiles.


	2. A Trauma Transference 2

_**Disclaimer**: This is a piece of fan fiction. Harry Potter and all characters, magic, events, royalties, etc., are the ideas and property of J.K. Rowling and whoever she designates to translate them to book, recording or film. I hope you'll enjoy my own take on this particular universe, even though I don't own it and didn't invent it._

**Second Chapter, A Trauma Transference**

The problem with Trauma Transference potions was that they needed a week to set, in some cases, two weeks. Albus sighed and made the requested one up, then set it on the shelf to get started on the other potions Poppy needed. It couldn't hurt, he thought as he worked, to send an owl to St. Mungo's, to see if they had any TT potions they could have. He finished the second potion, then went up to the owlery to do just that.

When he arrived, he found that another person had decided the owlery was a great place to hang around. Harry Potter, who never went home for Christmas, was visiting his owl, Hedwig.

"Good afternoon, Harry! How are you this fine day?"

Harry looked up at the sky, which was very heavy with clouds. "I'm fine, Professor."

Albus looked at the sky as well. "It looks like snow," he commented.

"I was wondering if I should even bother sending a letter off to Ron. He'll be back in a couple of days."

The sky didn't look too promising for sending an owl anywhere. "I'd keep Hedwig in," he advised. "The weather looks like it's turning."

That wouldn't do at all. They needed a potion quickly, to resolve the problem with Severus. School would be starting up again soon, and they already had a competent DADA teacher. What they needed was their Potions Master.

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked.

Albus pulled himself away from his thoughts. "Yes. Yes, there is. We need a potion quickly, but it takes a week at least for it to set."

"Aren't there other potions that could work?"

"Yes, but they take longer."

"Oh."

"I suppose I'll have to use the floo to get in touch with St. Mungo's," Albus sighed.

"Why St. Mungo's? Is someone sick?"

Of course the boy hadn't heard of the problem. Albus took the opportunity to sit and watch the clouds as they rolled in lower and lower.

"Professor Snape's had an accident. We need a certain potion, which I've begun. But it will take a week, as I said, for it to set. School begins again on Monday."

"He isn't hurt badly, is he?"

"No, thankfully, he wasn't. It's just that he's contracted a rare condition, Trauma Transference, that needs attention before school begins. Or you'll be without a Potions Master. Which isn't a very good thing for students at all," he continued, sensing the boy's secret elation at the news, "If you miss even a part of your Potions course, you'll have to make it up before you can graduate."

Mission accomplished: elation a dead issue.

But...

"Harry. My boy!"

Harry looked up.

"Why don't you go to the hospital wing and see Professor Snape?"

The look on Harry's face conveyed both confusion and dislike. "He hates me, sir," the boy replied. "He wouldn't want to see me."

"I believe you'll find him much different," Albus replied. "I believe it would do him a world of good to hear how much he is needed. I wouldn't ask you this, Harry, if I didn't think it would do some good. Stress how much he is needed in the Potions classroom... No matter what he says."

The boy's expression turned to surprise. He was wondering if Snape's accident had made him think he was no longer needed, or wanted. That was something the boy could understand, so Albus left it alone.

"I'll be in my office, if you need me for anything. But I'm sure Madam Pomphrey will be more than capable to answer any questions you might have. And, Harry? I do appreciate your doing this."

The boy scurried off. Albus watched him leave, then stood up.

"Yes," he said to Hedwig, who had come to the end of her perch to question him, "I did have to send him off. His words of encouragement could very well mean the difference between our having a Potions instructor, if not our old Potions Master, back for the start of the new semester."

* * *

Harry Potter looked shyly into the ward. Rows and rows of empty, perfect beds met his gaze. At the near end of the room, one bed was curtained off. That must be where Snape was being treated. No one was around, but someone must be in attendance. Harry heard the strains of 'My Girl' issuing from some hidden spot.

He approached the curtain and peered around it. What he saw made him almost turn and leave. Snape was sitting up in bed, a purple robe tossed casually about his shoulders, singing.

"_When it's cold outside, I've got the month of May_!" the professor warbled before noticing Harry's head poking around the screen. "Oh! I didn't hear anyone come in. Here. Have a seat! So good of you to drop by!"

Harry sat down, more confused than ever. The first thing he never thought he would see was Professor Snape in anything but deadly black. The first thing he never thought he would hear was Professor Snape singing a love song.

"I heard you had an accident, sir. I'm... I'm glad you're feeling better."

"Better? I've never felt better in my life! Not even the time I singlehandedly captured a Mountain Troll for the Ministry in Bulgaria. Have I ever told you about that?"

Harry shook his head. He had no idea Snape had even been to Bulgaria, let alone captured a Mountain Troll singlehandedly.

"There were five of us in the expedition originally. But we lost two to frostbite, and another two to fear. The situation was completely grim. I could have turned tail and run myself, it would have been understandable under the circumstances. But I couldn't very well let an entire village suffer. So I took my trusty wand..."

Harry stared at Snape as though he had grown a second head. This was so unlike him that Harry began to understand that his injuries were more extensive than they appeared. As the story unfolded of a miraculous escape and the resulting capture, the only person he could think of who talked like that was Gilderoy Lockhart.

And for strange beasts, Snape and Lockhart were on opposite ends of the spectrum.

"And that is how I earned the Bulgarian Royal Cross," Snape finished with a smug grin. "I can see you're completely overwhelmed by my tale. But I assure you, it's all true."

Harry could feel the man's assurance. He merely nodded.

"Well? What about you? What do you think of my little exploit?"

"It was... Fantastic," Harry said, summoning up all the credulity he could muster. He'd heard that people with head injuries could be dangerous if aroused, and he certainly didn't want to arouse Snape's ire. One could never tell when someone like this would turn.

"So, aside from my presence, what brings you into these drear wards?"

"I... I'd heard you were injured, and came to see if I could cheer you up. We... We really need you back here, you know."

"Of course you do! My experience is invaluable to young students like yourself. When I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, there will not be a single heart that won't be beating double time..."

Some things never changed. Snape had always wanted the DADA post, and Lockhart had taught it. But, they had a perfectly good DADA teacher. What they needed was a Potions teacher.

"I'm sure you would be marvellous in the post," Harry said, trying to smile sincerely, "But we really need your expertise in the Potions classroom. I've heard you're quite knowledgeable about Potions..."

"And what happened to that depressing Professor Snape? Has he taken a powder?"

"Er, no, sir. He's... he's laid up. Ill. Had an accident. And we're without our Potions Master. If we don't have Potions, we won't be able to graduate. We're... we're counting on you to save the day."

"Of course you are," Snape answered as though it was the most natural thing on earth for a student to implore him to teach. "Though I must say, I wouldn't trust the man farther than a kneazel could toss a wraith. In fact, just between us," and Snape leaned forward conspiriatorily, "I wouldn't be surprised in the least to find that it was old Severus himself who put this spell on me, to force me into teaching his classes."

"Spell?" Harry raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, don't think I haven't seen it in your eyes. Confusion, doubt... They told you that Professor Lockhart was back, though ailing. You come rushing down to greet me, but find to your dismay that it appears to be Professor Snape. Who you would, likely, rather run _from_ than _toward_. You're startled, you're shocked, you begin to have uncertainties about the information you've been given, and who could blame you? The job is quite complete, don't you think? I do look very like him, don't I?"

"Well, er, now that you mention it..."

"And who else but snarky Severus could have done such a bang-up job? I know he's quite boring, and lacks imagination, but he's quite a hand with potions. Almost as good as me, if I do say so myself. I think I'd have done a better job with the hair, but overall, and without close scrutiny, I could easily pass for the old wet blanket!"

"Yes, sir. The resemblance is remarkable. Until you speak, that is. You don't speak a bit like Snape."

"Thank Merlin for small favors! Though I am very much Merlin's favorite. Everybody says so. My near escapes, my fabulous record..."

Harry knew Lockhart's record was as false as any could be. But, did Snape know that? Or did he actually believe, in his condition, that Lockhart was as brave and bold as he publicized?

Surely he couldn't! Harry remembered the contempt Snape had shown toward Lockhart, and on looking back, could see how the Potions Master had seen right through him.

So, why be Lockhart?

"Cheer up, dear boy! Gilderoy won't let you down! Have I ever let you down before?"

Harry shook his head. Lockhart had, but Snape never had. Snape was always, until now, Snape. And Harry was beginning to wish for the old Snape to return.

* * *

"I have never heard so much soft soap in all my life!" Poppy told Albus later on, when he came to check on Severus's progress. "The boy sat there as bold as brass and told him how we counted on him to save the day. Poor thing! He had to suffer through two stories of sensational salvations, though, before he left. And he only got away by begging that he had to study since the new semester would be starting soon."

"But, did he agree to teach Potions?"

"He did. How could he resist such a pitiful plea?" Poppy laughed. "It's hard, though, not to believe it isn't Lockhart in Severus's body. He's got the character down so well!"

"Downright eerie," Dumbledore agreed.

"Have you finished my potions?"

"Yes. I put them on your desk. Other than the TT potion, which has to ferment a week before it can be used. It's in the lab, on the shelf. I did contact St. Mungo's, though. They'll see if they have something they can let us have."

"Good. I can't tolerate much more of that," Poppy said as Snape burst into 'Oh What A Beautiful Morning' behind his screen.

* * *

St. Mungo's had a very limited supply of Trauma Transference potions, and preferred to keep them on hand, just in case, as it took a while to brew them up. Dumbledore thanked the healers for considering their case, and leaned his head on his fist.

If they had brought Snape in, the potion would have to have been used anyway. Why hoarde it like that when there was a genuine use here?

But, it was no more than he'd expected. Living for more than a century had shown him more of human nature than he cared to see. Well, they would have to do their best with what they had, and perhaps things would work out all right in the end.

Two weeks. That's how long it would take before they had the genuine Severus Snape with them again, instead of the bogus Gilderoy Lockhart. The potion would take a week to set, then another week of daily doses, to do its job. In the meantime, Snape/Lockhart had been allowed limited freedom in the castle, providing he return to the sick ward at mealtimes. That would set the precedent for when the potion was ready to be dispensed. The only problem would be explaining to Snape/Lockhart why he was receiving thrice-daily doses.

Harry's talk with the wizard, overheard by Poppy, had given Albus his story. The potion was to remove the spell on 'Lockhart' which made him look like Snape. Since the wizard who had placed the spell was absent or not admitting it, it was the only thing they could do. Many years ago, such a deception would have gone against Albus's grain. But these days, he thought, anything that did the job would do.

Especially anything that rid the school of a bogus, though uncannily accurate, Gilderoy Lockhart. The original had been more than enough!

At least Snape didn't have his Lockhart singing in company. He only sang when he thought he was alone. That disturbed Albus more than a little. What made Snape's mind believe that Lockhart would sing to himself like that?

And those stories! There were similar stories in Lockhart's books, to be sure, but none exactly matching. Though Severus was sharp; perhaps he knew that Lockhart's stories were more fiction than fact anyway.

Albus laughed to himself. The stories were absolutely extraordinary. Tales of singlehanded combat with Mountain Trolls and Water Piskies, facing dangerous Boggarts, conquering dragons, saving damsels... There was more locked away behind Severus's stern glare than met the eye.

The only problem was, how would the students react to the 'new Snape'? And, how would Severus react once he regained his equilibrium and discovered how he'd exposed himself while ill? That was something which bothered Dumbledore on the eve of the new semester starting. How would this affect their old, familiar Severus?

* * *

Harry Potter was thinking the same thing. There was no love lost between him and Snape, but he couldn't stand the idea of the wizard being embarrassed so completely in front of the students. He decided he'd have to do something about it. Taking his Potions book to the ward, he sat down with whoever Snape was that evening and opened to the last lesson they had learned.

"I've been thinking, sir."

"Studying your text! Good boy!"

Harry felt like a retriever who had just brought back a grouse.

"Since you look so much like Snape right now, it might be better if you acted like him. At least in class. I know it isn't like you, but... Well, it might distract the other students from learning."

Snape rolled this around in his brain for a minute. "Yes. I can see your point. The students will, of course, be dazzled by my personality, but confused by seeing it in what they think is Severus's body. Do you really think I could pull it off?"

"If anybody could, it's you."

"Yes, I always was a consummate actor. By Merlin! I'll do it! They won't know my character from the real Snape! Wonderful idea! Not to disturb the students... I'll bring it up with Albus when he comes in tonight. He's been so forthcoming with me about all of this... He leans heavily on me, you know."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll just sit him down and explain the situation. He'll agree, of course. My powers of forethought are legendary. He'll simply have to go along."

When Dumbledore came in that evening, he was happily surprised to find that Snape/Lockhart had already thought of disguising his flambouyant personality 'for the sake of the students'. Poppy told him later that it had been Harry's idea.


	3. A Trauma Transference 3

_**Disclaimer**: This is a piece of fan fiction. Harry Potter and all characters, magic, events, royalties, etc., are the ideas and property of J.K. Rowling and whoever she designates to translate them to book, recording or film. I hope you'll enjoy my own take on this particular universe, even though I don't own it and didn't invent it._

**Third Chapter: A Trauma Transference**

Harry didn't have Potions until the Tuesday after school began, and he agonized all through Monday, wondering if Snape/Lockhart would be able to pull off being Snape/Lockhart/Snape. But the only complaints he heard from the other students were that Snape was especially snarky. Relieved, he looked forward to seeing the performance for himself on Tuesday morning.

True to everything he'd heard, Snape arrived at the classroom with more than his usual dudgeon. He unlocked the door, then entered with a loud "Good-" which Harry interpreted to be the beginning of 'Good Morning, Class!', but which changed to "-Merlin's Wand! Can't you even enter a classroom quietly? Ten points from Gryffindor!"

* * *

'Lockhart' had been working on his Snape ever since that nice Harry Potter (_shame about him, had all the fame he could want, didn't know how to parlay it at all_!) had put the kernel of the plan into his mind. He couldn't wait until Tuesday, when he would have the boy in class.

Now, as he looked out over the assembled students, cowering under his 'Snape' gaze, he let his eyes rest on Potter for just a second too long, to show him that he knew his stuff.

* * *

"What did you do now?" Ron leaned over to ask Harry as Snape's glare sat longer than it ought to have, on him. "He's looking at you like you've just ruined a potion, and we haven't even started!"

"Mr. Weasley," came the voice from the front of the room, "Are you seriously asking for detention?"

Ron straightened up in his chair. "No, sir."

"Good. Then, _with your permission_, we may begin."

The class went along well enough. The lesson appeared on the board, and the students bent to their tasks. Harry noticed that Snape paid just a little too much attention to him, but everyone would think it was because Snape was just out to get him, as usual. When the class was over, Harry feared that he would be held back so the Lockhart inside of Snape could gloat, but he wasn't. He decided he would visit the wizard in the hospital wing later, after dinner.

* * *

"How did I do? I must say, I had those students cowering in their chairs," Snape congratulated himself for Harry's benefit.

"Ron thought for sure I'd be getting detention, the way you looked at me."

"Nice touch, eh? I know there is no love lost between the two of you. Though I can't imagine why."

Harry just shrugged. The Lockhart personality would come up with his own explaination.

"It's very depressing to have to come here for meals," Snape went on. "I'm certain I could pull the act off, but Albus thinks it's better if I set a precedent, for when they begin the medication. It'll be wonderful to have my own hair back! I don't see how the man can stand this... this... spaghetti that he's got for hair! It's absolutely vile!"

The expression, meant to be innocent shock, made Snape look even eviller than he normally did. Harry coughed to hide his grin.

* * *

The regimine began on Thursday. Snape took his medicine dutifully, but whined that it wasn't cherry-flavored.

"Now, Gilderoy," Dumbledore soothed, "You're teaching Potions now. You know it's difficult to get such a sophisticated potion into flavors."

"I suppose you're right. But if your man Snape was worth his reputation, and it seems to be considerable, he would have provided the means of doing so. Now, if my talents had run more in the direction of Potions..."

Albus sighed and shrugged apologetically at Poppy, who had to suffer through his complaining at every meal.

* * *

By Saturday morning, a little bit of genuine Snape began to show back through. A snarl, a covert glare, the odd expression of mistrust when Harry popped his head around the screen to see how he was doing.

"Mr. Potter," he said with reserve as Harry entered the cubicle and sat down.

"How are you feeling, Professor?" Harry asked.

Relief flooded over the face. "Marvellous. But I can't see where I'm beginning to look anything like myself as yet. I shall be utterly relieved!"

"I'm sure you will, Professor."

"Then I can go back to teaching in my usual style, which I'm certain will be of more benefit to the students than this regime of terror that seems to be the norm!"

"It's just his way," Harry said. He was beginning to appreciate Snape's lower key to Lockhart's over-the-top baloney.

"I'm certain that it is. But people like that... Trust me, Harry, they end up leaving one in the lurch to face whatever it is, alone. I remember when I was part of a group meant to study the Yeti in Tibet..."

Harry pasted an interested half-smile on his face and wished Snape would come bursting through and tell him to get out of there.

* * *

By Monday evening, Snape and his Lockhart double were having outright arguments together. Harry sat through nearly forty-five minutes of snarling and high-handed jibes before excusing himself to go and do some homework.

* * *

On Tuesday and Wednesday, Professor Dumbledore took over the Potions class. He enjoyed being in with the students, but looking at the pile of work to be marked, he recalled all over again why he had been so relieved to have been named headmaster.

On Thursday morning, Snape entered the room, his robes billowing out behind him, his manner brisque and snarly.

"Open your books and review," he snapped. "Begin on page one hundred fourteen, finish at page one hundred fifty-seven."

"He's worse than ever," Ron whispered when Snape had his glare fixed somewhere else.

Harry noticed that it was everything they had done since the beginning of the semester. Snape was back. And with a vengeance.

* * *

Severus Snape sat back in his chair before his fireplace and picked up his glass of fire draught. It was Friday night, and he had nothing to look forward to but sleeping late the next morning. His little brush with Fate Worse Than Death was completely over with and life was getting back to normal.

But his near-Lockhart experience had made him slightly nostalgic. Thursday evening, he had gone through the box he kept on his highest shelf and brought down some old photographs to adorn his mantle. He never spoke about any of his sojurns in Eastern Europe and the Orient, but this was his private sanctuary so there was no harm in displaying them. After all, who would see?

"Enter!" he called to a knock at his door. His first impulse was to rush to hide his mementos, but he forced himself to relax. Anyone who would dare come to visit him was no danger to his carefully-preserved personna. He looked up as Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall came in.

"Care for a drink?" he asked, standing up and motioning to the bottle on the side table. They both accepted, so he poured.

"We've come to tell you how glad we are that you're back," Albus said, sitting comfortably on the other side of the fireplace. "And I want to tell you, personally, how much you're appreciated."

"The appreciation runs both ways, headmaster," Snape replied, lifting his glass slightly. There were things that needed acknowledgement no matter how long it had been since their doing.

Minerva walked along the mantle, looking at the photographs. "These are new, Severus," she observed, picking up one and studying it closely. "Is this you? My, how young you were!"

Snape came as close to coloring as he ever would. "Yes, that was from the winter I spent in Bulgaria."

"Is that a Mountain Troll?" she asked, squinting at the caged figure in the background.

Snape coughed. "Yes. They have quite a few of them there."

"I understand that the last of the wild ones were captured about twenty years ago," Albus said, his eyes twinkling curiously at Snape.

Snape took a very large swallow of his drink. "It made quite a splash while I was there," he replied. "But, I doubt if it was the last of the wild ones. I expect there are more..."

"Tell me, have you ever been to Tibet?" Albus asked.

"Er... Headmaster, why the interest in my travels?"

"Oh, no reason," Albus replied. But he gave Severus one last, knowing look before turning his attention to conversation about the school.

When they were gone at last, Severus stood up and turned the lights off in his sitting room. He went into his bedroom to undress. But for a moment, his mind turned to that despicable Potter spawn. He'd told him nearly every tale he'd been preserving, and the boy most likely didn't believe a word of it. Oh, well, if it had been him, he wouldn't have, either. Any more than he'd believed Lockhart...

Just for fun, he decided to drag out the old yellow pair of pajamas, and soon he was swathed in golden silk, sitting in his bed with a hot toddy at his side, admiring, with no little pleasure, the velvet box containing his Bulgarian Royal Cross.


End file.
